


Drifting

by crimsoncomradeposts



Category: Marriage Story (2019)
Genre: Abandonment, Angst, Emotional Infidelity, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, Squirting, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23989810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsoncomradeposts/pseuds/crimsoncomradeposts
Summary: A suitcase emoji. Something so small and seemingly insignificant to anyone else sends your entire world crashing down onto its head when it appears on screen. You’ve been waiting for this moment for years, and now that it’s here, your heart thrums violently with anticipation and dread. This will simultaneously be the best and worst moment of your life.
Relationships: Charlie Barber/Reader, Charlie Barber/You
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on the new HBO series Run.

The soft clatter of silverware sounds from all around the seventies-inspired room of Barclay Prime, the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the windows to bounce off of glass tumblers, the light reflecting off onto the walls and seats. You’re deep into the middle of a conversation with your publicist, who’s seated across from you in a chic, forest green armchair. The topic at hand is your ‘latest and greatest’ novel. “Have you given any more thought into Jerry’s revisions,” asks Nora as she slices the sharpened edge of her knife into her steak, eyes focused on the task at hand rather than at you. **  
**

Your head shakes from side to side, even in spite of the fact that her attention is elsewhere. “No.” When her gaze does finally lift, she finds you nursing your glass of sazerac. She looks less than impressed with your response, and when she sets down her fork and knife with a heavy sigh, all you can do is shrug, smiling sheepishly from overtop the rim of the glass. “I just don’t like the revisions,” you say plainly before taking another sip of your drink, feeling the burn of it as it slides down your throat. “I think they’re unnecessary.”

How many times had the two of you been down this road? You respect Jerry, sure, but these edits were not something that you are willing to budge on, not now. Not this time. Unlike your last book, this one had been more real, more substantial, and as much as you’ve added your own little embellishments to make things more interesting, you aren’t keen to allow anyone else to make changes to the story. But even still, Nora isn’t about to let things go that easily. She does know how to get a book to sell, after all.

She opens her mouth to speak, but when she does, your phone buzzes atop the marble tabletop, the sound drawing both of your attention to the mobile device. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, brows furrowing when you see the name that pops up onto the screen. ‘ **Charlie** ’ it reads in bold letters, and though the name means nothing to Nora, it means everything to you. It’s a name belonging to someone you haven’t heard from in years, so to see it now, well, it can only mean one thing. Nora’s already begun to go off on one of her tangents again, this time the focus on you and your unwillingness to relent to the edits, but her words are nothing but background noise to you now as you lift your phone and swipe the screen with a shaky finger to open it and reveal the message. A suitcase emoji. Something so small and seemingly insignificant to anyone else sends your entire world crashing down onto its head when it appears on screen. You’ve been waiting for this moment for years, and now that it’s here, your heart thrums violently with anticipation and dread.

“Are you okay?” Nora’s voice finally breaks through to capture your attention. Your panicked gaze lifts to find her, and the look of concern is evident on your face. You nod in spite of feeling the sick feeling that’s washing over you now.

“Yes. Yes, I’m okay. I, uh, I’m so sorry, I just need to, uh . . .” Scooting back up out of your chair, you rise up onto your feet and clutch your phone in your hand, your other hand slinging the strap of your purse onto your shoulder. “Can we reschedule? I’m sorry.”

Nora’s left visibly confused as you step away from the table without so much as an explanation, and as you move towards the entrance, you can hear her call out for you, pleading with you to wait. Your free hand pushes against the door, swinging it open as you step out into the cool spring air, stopping only long enough to unlock your phone’s screen again, taking a moment to stare down at the message. With your heart hammering in your chest, and your fingers shaking to an uncontrollable degree, you send back a single emoji in response: the plane.

Slipping your phone into the back pocket of your jeans, you step further out onto the sidewalk and turn to stride down the block in the direction of Suburban Station. You know that if you’re going to do this, you don’t have the time to afforded to you to make your way back to your apartment to grab your belongings. This has to be done and it has to be done now.

\----------------------------------------------

Philadelphia International Airport is crowded for a Sunday evening, shockingly so, but even still, you manage to make your way to the Delta ticket counter much faster than you’d anticipated given the sheer size of the line. “I need a ticket,” you say, fishing out your wallet and pulling out your credit card in anticipation of your purchase.

“To which location?” The woman behind the counter watches you, waiting expectantly as you hesitate, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if you’ll go through with it.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you slide your card across the counter towards her. “Seattle, please. One way.”

You can tell now that she’s taking in the sight of you and your lack of baggage. She, herself, hesitates a moment before giving you a nod and typing the information into the system. “The next available flight to Seattle is in thirty minutes.” It’s a question more so than a statement, and she falls silent, waiting for your nod of approval, which you give her, before she takes your card and follows through with the transaction.

With the card and ticket now handed off to you, you thank her and turn to make the mad dash through security and to the gate before the flight takes off.

\----------------------------------------------

You’re a winded mess by the time you make it to the gate just as the attendant is making moves to close the door. “Wait! Wait, please!” Your hand is raised as you shout, waving the man down to bring his attention to you when he turns to find the source of the hollering. By some semblance of a miracle, you’ve made it just before he’s closed the door, which means you’ve managed to land yourself on that flight. The realization makes your heart flutter, because you know what will be waiting for you in Seattle.

Once your ticket’s been scanned, you hustle down the length of the walkway until you’re greeted by the flight attendants who graciously point you in the direction of your seat. Quickly settling into the aisle seat, you buckle yourself in and brace yourself for what will be the longest ride of your life. In six hours, you’ll be coming face to face with Charlie for the first time in years.


	2. Chapter 2

The familiar ding of the intercom system sounds overhead before the crackling of brief static can be heard. A sharp inhale of a breath sounds, and then, the Captain’s voice fills the space. “At this time we’ve gone ahead and put on the seat belt sign as we begin making our descent into Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. It’s expected to be a chilly day today, highs of 48 with plenty of rain. It’ll be cloudy during our descent, which could lead to a bit of bumpiness from the turbulence, so please make sure all trays are secured and all items are stowed in the overhead compartments or underneath the seat in front of you. Thank you for flying with us today as we welcome you to Seattle.”

There’s no point in even looking over to your right to stare out of the window. The view of the ground is blocked by wall to wall stratus clouds. Not even Mount Rainier in all its glory is visible from this height. A sharp sting draws your attention back down to your hands where you’ve absentmindedly picked at your thumb, the action causing a piece of skin to tear near the cuticle. Inhaling a breath that sounds much like a hiss, you lean forward and dig around your purse with your free hand to retrieve a tissue, wrapping it around your thumb to stop the bleeding. Your nerves haven’t hit you until this very moment, and now that you can feel the plane lowering to the ground, you can’t help but wonder if you’re making the right decision.

\---------------------------------------------

The first thing that you do once the plane rolls to a stop at the gate is turn on your phone. Immediately, you’re met by a multitude (twenty, to be exact) of missed calls from Nora, a few texts from your best friend, and a couple of calls from your parents. The reality of the situation still hasn’t fully set in, even as you stare down at the mass of notifications.

Rising up from your seat, you join the masses that funnel off of the plane, slowly moving further and further away from your old life and into the new one with each step forward. It’s as if you’re moving on autopilot now, your brain not even able to comprehend the split decision you’d made to land you here as you walk up the walkway and to the terminal. Your steps come to a pause only once you’ve reached the digital display boards that announce the arrivals and departures, your eyes scanning them to find the latest arrival from New York, specifically, any arrivals from John F. Kennedy Airport. The most reasonable flight that Charlie could have been on, all things considered, is the flight that landed ten minutes ago at Gate B9. The soles of your shoes squeak against the tiled floor when you pivot to look at the gate you’ve just emerged from: D3.

“Shit,” you mutter to yourself, turning again to get your bearings before figuring out which way to head in order to get to the B terminal.

Wasting no time, you hustle down the walkway, feet carrying you as quickly as you can go, moving from a quick walk to a full on sprint. If things had gone according to plan (as if there’d ever been a good plan to begin with), then Charlie should be there, and he should be waiting for you. Unless . . .

. . . Shit. Did he have baggage? You should have, but you couldn’t waste any time. Did he?

As you near the B terminal, you retrieve your phone in preparation to call him. Your steps slow again until you’re standing at the crossroad of the main terminal and B, chest heaving from your run, and eyes darting around frantically. The hand holding the phone lifts, your other hand hovering over the screen to pull up his contact information, but that’s when you spot him . He’s standing in front of one of the digital display boards, his head tipped back, hands in his pockets and eyes narrowed just slightly with his lips pursed while he peruses the arriving flights list. His head turns, and you can see the look of instant recognition on his face when he spots you among the crowd. Your hands lower, and you slip the phone into your back pocket, feet now carrying you forward towards him just as he turns to make his advance.

Your steps halt just as his does, leaving the two of you standing mere feet apart now. This is the first time you’ve seen him in years and he looks  _ good _ . Charlie smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the expression, and though it’s warm and inviting in its own right, you can’t help but note the hint of sadness that his eyes carry. You can’t help but wonder what he’s got on his mind. But now is not the time nor the place. Not here in the middle of a bustling airport.

“Hi,” he says just softly enough for you to hear.

A breath of air huffs out through your nose, and you can’t help but return his smile with one of your own. “Hi,” you say back to him with an equal softness.

Charlie swallows, his gaze flickering away momentarily before he brings his attention back to you. “I didn’t think you’d come.” His shoulders roll into a shrug, and you can tell that he’s trying too hard to make it look like a nonchalant gesture. How characteristically Charlie, you think to yourself. Always trying to make himself seem more carefree when you always knew he’d kept so much hidden below the surface.

“You sent the suitcase,” you remind him, a single brow lifted upward as if to emphasize your point.

He nods, conceding with the gesture alone that your point has been made and duly noted. “And you sent the plane.”

Years ago you’d made this pact, long before either of you had parted ways to live in separate cities. The plan had formed late into the night when the two of you had been lying in bed with one another, limbs tangled and secrets whispered in hushed tones between lips that barely ever separated. It was Charlie who’d come up with it, of course; should something ever happen so drastically in your life that you needed to leave it all behind, one of you would text the other those simple emojis, and the two of you would drop everything and meet here. You always thought it would be you who would break first. After all, you never did truly get over Charlie.

But here you are, standing face to face, the reality that after all this time and years apart, and it’s he who’d reached out first. Whatever’s happened must have been bad. Why else would he leave behind everything to come here? Then again, why had you? There are so many unanswered questions, but first . . .

“Do we have a place to stay,” you ask, to which Charlie shakes his head. Of course not. You shouldn’t have expected it, not when this joint decision was made on a whim. “Alright then,” you sigh, nodding your head in the direction of the baggage claim and rental cars. “First thing’s first. We get ourselves a car, and then we get a room.”


	3. Chapter 3

The drive from the airport to downtown Seattle had been nothing short of awkward, what with the both of you agreeing to talk about things once you’ve found a suitable hotel to stay at for the night. After having called nearly everyone in the area, you’d finally found a hotel that had a vacancy: the Edgewater Hotel. It’s like nothing you’d seen before, the modern building parked right out over top of Elliot Bay, coaxing visitors in from both land and sea. Once the car is parked (courtesy of the valet, thank you very much), the two of you make your way into what you can only describe as the coziest atmosphere you’ve ever experienced in your entire life. The lobby is warm and welcoming with the large stone hearth, fire burning bright for the visitors to nestle up to, red walls complimenting the wood that runs rampant in a style that is truly Pacific Northwestern.

Your hands settle atop the cool granite counter top of the front desk just as you’re greeted by the smiling face of the concierge. “Welcome to the Edgewater Hotel. Name?”

It takes a moment to register, and when your head tilts to look up at Charlie, you find him staring back at you with the same dumbfounded look before realization settles onto both of you, and you both seek to correct her at the same time.

“Oh, no, we — ”

“We don’t ha — ”

Charlie chuckles and motions with a wave of your hand to go ahead and speak. Your fingers drum against the counter top as you lean in slightly, smiling at the concierge. “We don’t have reservations, but we  _ are _ interested in a room.”

The man behind the counter types away, fingers tapping at keys to check the hotel’s availability. His gaze flickers to the two of you before back to the screen and then back to you and Charlie, and when he smiles, you know that it’s forced. “It appears that the only room that we have available for the night is our Beatles Suite.”

“Great. _ Great _ , we’ll take it,” you decide, making the choice for both you and Charlie without so much as consulting him.

Charlie’s already reaching behind him to retrieve his wallet from his back pocket, but just as he’s opening it to pull out some cash, a sickening sensation settles into the pit of his stomach when the concierge pipes up with the cost of the stay. “One thousand, twenty-nine dollars . . . excluding taxes.”

While Charlie swallows the thick lump in his throat, your jaw nearly hits the floor. “One thousand dollars  _ for a room _ ,” you ask incredulously.

The man shrugs his shoulders, unbothered by the response. “It’s the only room in town. There’s quite a few events happening across the city this week. If you don’t want the room then might I suggest schlepping it south to Olympia. I’m sure you’ll find something more your speed there.”

Your eyes narrow at that, and you can hear Charlie huffing out a displeased breath. “Oh, we’re taking the room,” you reply stubbornly, much to Charlie’s chagrin. But he knows that he can’t pay for this, not unless he uses his card, and if he does that then that means.

Nicole.

She’ll know exactly where he is, and that’s the last thing that he needs.

“I’ll cover it,” you say to him without so much as looking over. “I’ve got the funds, I’ve got enough to cover it.” But of course as you begin to pull out your own wallet, beginning to count out the bills that will more than cover the cost, plus incidentals, the concierge speaks yet again.

“We’ll still need a credit card on file.”

“For what. I’ve got plenty to cover it. Not that I’ll need to. It’s not like we’ll be partying up there, Christ.” You can’t help but laugh, but even still, the concierge remains unmoved.

Huffing out a breath, you turn to face Charlie and motion to the counter. “Do you mind?”

This should be fine, he thinks, handing over the card. It’s only for incidentals and it won’t be charged. Nicole will be none the wiser, leaving him plenty of time to be with you.

He reaches for you once the room’s been paid for, his hand curling around yours whilst he leads you away from the desk and towards the elevators. His palm is clammy, or . . . could that be yours? You’re unsure. Surely he’s every bit as nervous as you are. He did just walk away from whatever life he’s built for himself in the years since the two of you parted ways, and the thought causes a sudden sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach. What kind of life  _ had _ he built? Neither of you had bothered to ask the other.

Then again, that was never a part of the agreement. And yet . . .

“Charlie?”

“Hm,” he hums in response, brows raising question when his gaze swings over to you, your hands still joined.

Prying your eyes from the illuminated numbers representing the floors as the elevator lowers towards the lobby, you look up at him, taking a moment to search his face before you ask. “What did you risk?”

You don’t need to elaborate. He knows exactly what you’re asking of him, and it’s his turn now to experience that sinking feeling. He’s swallowing the bile that threatens to rise within his throat. This is not how he wants to start this night off with you, but he also knows that he can’t lie to you. He owes you that much, if not so much more. His brows furrow, lips pulling down into a frown as he averts his eyes momentarily. It’s as if you can see the wheels turning in his mind.

He wants to tell you; wants to let it all spill from his heart to your ears, but he can’t. Not yet. He just wants this one night.

His hand grips yours a little tighter, a silent plea for you to stick with him through all of this, no matter what secrets you may unearth. “Everything.”


	4. Chapter 4

**_Ten Years Ago_ **

_ “Promise me something?” Your head tips back, tilting just enough to look up at Charlie while your head rests on his shoulder, his arm slung around your back with his hand resting on your hip. _

_ “Hm,” he hums in response, answering your question with a question. _

_ Your index finger traces patterns absentmindedly against his bare chest while the two of you lie in bed together, plain cotton sheets only covering you both from the waist down. “If life doesn’t go how we imagine it, and somewhere down the road we don’t find ourselves loving where we are,” you take a moment to pause, head lowering again to rest comfortably against his shoulder, “promise me we’ll find each other again. Promise me we’ll run.” _

_ There’s another hum, softer this time while Charlie contemplates your words. “And where would we run?” _

_ One of your shoulders rolls into a shrug, and you can feel the gentle swipe of his thumb against your bare hip. “I’ve always wanted to visit Seattle.” _

\-----------------------------------------------------

The elevator’s bell dings to signal that you’ve arrived at your floor, metal doors parting to allow both you and Charlie to step out into the hallway that will lead to your room. Your hand remains firmly clasped in his, footsteps falling into perfect rhythm with his as you stride down the long corridor to the end of the hall where your room is. Charlie pulls the keycard from his pocket and swipes, waiting for the buzz of the door’s lock and the change of the light from red to green before he pushes the door open, motioning for you to step inside first.

Nothing could have prepared you for this suite, you decide immediately upon entering. The rooms are awash in color, the floor a carpeted tartan pattern in shades of green, red, yellow, and blue. The walls and furniture match the floor in varying degrees of color, and you notice as you step further into the living space that you’re gifted the view of Elliott Bay with floor to ceiling windows. For the briefest of moments, you forget what exactly you’re doing here; for a moment it feels as if you’re not running, but that you’re here as you were always meant to be: a couple.

Your gaze shifts up slightly, catching Charlie’s reflection in the glass as he steps behind you. His arms wrap around your middle, drawing your back up against his chest while he exhales a soft sigh. A week. That’s all you’ve given yourself, it’s all he’s been given, to see if this — whatever this is — will work out between the two of you. One week together here in Seattle, and then you’ll make your decision: do you return to the mundane lives you’ve built up for yourselves, or do you stay together and create something new?

“I can hear you thinking,” Charlie says, his deep voice pulling you from your thoughts.

A sigh of your own sounds, facial features relaxing considerably when you make the conscious effort to no longer furrow your brow or scowl out at the Bay. “Sorry,” you whisper in return, shifting around in his arms to turn and face him. “It’s just… I think everything is only just now sinking in. You know, now that we’ve finally taken a pause.”

It’s evident, the way Charlie’s face softens, muscles relaxing to give the illusion of a more youthful look. There is a slight upturn of his mouth, one hand remaining at your back while the other lifts up to cup the side of your face. “You wanted Seattle,” he reminds you with a teasing tone.

“I ran out of a meeting for this. A big, big meeting.”

You huff dry laughter and he does the same, thumb grazing along your cheekbone. “A book meeting?”

“Oh?” A single brow raises, a lilt to your voice when you ask. “So you  _ have _ been keeping up with my career!” There’s a smirk of self-satisfaction in knowing. You’d always wondered if he’d kept up with what you were doing whenever your name was out there floating around in various social circles or your latest and greatest book hit the shelves.

Charlie snorts in response to your question, his posture straightening almost immediately in a defense-like gesture as his gaze is cast elsewhere before swinging back to you. “Hard not to notice when your name’s front and center on the ‘Look What’s New!’ section in the bookstore.”

He knows you know, know that he has been keeping up with what you’ve been doing as far as your career goes. But what you don’t know is that it goes so much deeper than that. Charlie buys those books, reads them on the subway, in a taxi, in between takes at rehearsal, in the quiet of his home; anywhere and everywhere, Charlie reads your stories because it’s the closest thing he’s had to you...until now.

“I came to see one of your plays, you know.” The admission hangs in the air so heavily that Charlie nearly chokes on it. This should feel light, airy,  _ happy _ . He should feel over the moon that you came, but it doesn’t. Do you know? Do you know about Nicole? About Henry? Had you overheard anyone mention that his wife was the lead?

Charlie swallows thickly, eyes searching yours as the anxiety wells up within him. “You did? When? Why didn’t you stop backstage and say hi?”

Another laugh is huffed out, and your shoulders rise and fall into a shrug. “I was only in town for one night. Another meeting, you know how that goes. Anyway, I knew I wouldn’t be there long. I didn’t want to go upending your life just to say hi.”

Or upend your own, more like. You knew seeing Charlie would have been terrible for you more so than anything else; knew those old feelings would come flooding back with such ferocity that you’d be sucked under by the proverbial current and drown under the weight of the emotions. The very same ones you’re feeling now.

He can see it, of course. Can see the way you’re looking up at him, a thousand emotions raging in those eyes of yours.

It’s like slow motion, watching him bend to yield his lips to yours, eyelids fluttering closed when he does so. You can’t help it, can’t help the sigh that slips past your parted lips when your lips finally meet after all this time. It’s just as you remember, kissing him, and it isn’t long until old, but never forgotten emotions bubble up to the surface to overcome you both.

Charlie’s hand drops away from your face to palm the side of your neck, fingers splayed across your jawline while his lips move hungrily against your own. The hand at your back draws you closer until your body presses up against his own. Your hands lift, fingers delving into the silken black hair that you’ve been dying to touch ever since you’d first laid eyes on him in the airport.

It’s a race to get your clothes off, the two of you undressing one another, garments flying every which way across the room while the two of you stumble back into the bedroom, lips practically tethered together whilst you move. Your back hits the plush comforter first, and Charlie is quick to hover over top of you, palms pressed into the soft material on either side of your shoulders. His face is framed by the dark hair that hangs around it, and you lift a hand up to brush back just enough to see his eyes.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers the words like some secret that’s meant for you and you alone. He supposes that it is. His heart aches with the realization that, now as he stares down at your face while you peer up at him flushed and expectant, it is you he should have been with all along. He’d missed out on so many years without you, and the regret that he’s repressed for so long is threatening to rise back up to the surface. “I’ve missed you,” he says in that same soft tone just before his head dips down to claim your lips once more.

The longing, the regret, the love, all of it is poured directly into the kiss, all of which you are eager to reciprocate.

A hand glides down along the length of your body, stopping only once it’s reached your knee. Slowly, he eases your legs apart to better settle between them, the hand on your knee disappearing momentarily only to reappear at the apex of your thighs. His kisses slow then, lips languidly moving against your own while fingertips dance along the lips of your cunt. Charlie swallows up the gasp that escapes you when he experimentally dips his middle finger into you, slowly working it in and out.

“I’ve missed this,” he admits, the words spilling from his mouth to yours in between each kiss. “Missed the feel of you. Missed you under me.” A second finger pushes in to join the first, eliciting a soft moan from the back of your throat. Your hips begin to move at their own accord, seeking out the feel of him as he pushes in deeper, fingers curling to graze along the velvety feeling of your front wall, seeking out that sensitive spot inside of you. Your breath hitches in your throat when he finds it, hips bucking instinctively into his hand, and he’s all too eager to bring you over the edge, needing you stretched, wet, and pliant for him.

Your hands reach for his biceps, fingers curling against the muscles while his own fingers work you deeper, faster, until the only sounds filling the room are the cries of his name and the obscene squelch of your cunt.

A hand slides down, gripping at his forearm now, feeling the muscles strain as his hand continues to work, fingers still buried within you. His thumb shifts to rub at your clit, and it’s all becoming too much, your back arching up off of the bed, eyes shut tight and jaw slack, the familiar pressure building in your lower belly. “Charlie, I — ” Words fail you the moment that your orgasm comes crashing down onto thighs trembling and body writhing beneath him, and…

He feels it, the sudden gush of  _ wet _ that douses his hand and forearm when you cry out into the room. You feel it too; how could you not with such an intense rush of pleasure that’d wracked your body. Never in all your years have you ever experienced something quite like that.

“Holy shit,” you pant, chest heaving as your back drops to the mattress while your eyes focus on Charlie as he pulls his fingers from you. “Did I — ”

“Yeah,” Charlie replies, the word cutting you off mid-sentence, his head nodding in response. “Yeah, you fucking did.”

He’d already been hard before, but now...now he’s painfully so. Reaching for your left leg, he hitches it up and over his hip as he settles back between your legs once more. Keeping himself propped up on his forearm, he bends back down to brush his lips along your own. “Condom?”

Your head shakes, hands lifting to slip fingers into his hair, curling them around loose strands. “Birth control,” you respond, tugging on his hair to bring his lips the rest of the way to yours.

He follows suit, lips crashing down onto yours, the head of his cock prodding at the slick opening of your cunt, parting the folds as he slowly,  _ slowly _ pushes his way into you. One hand falls from his hair to grasp at his shoulder, fingernails digging tiny crescent indents into the skin there, an intermingled gasp and moan escaping you when Charlie snaps his hips forward abruptly, sheathing himself fully inside of you with one single stroke. Ten years may have passed, but he still feels every bit as good as he had the last time the two of you had been together.

Charlie draws his hips back, the head of his cock catching before he thrusts forward again, just as quickly as he had moments prior. Your back arches up, chest pressing against his when you do so and lips leaving his as you dig your head back into the pillow. “Charlie,” you sigh, hips moving to meet each of his thrusts.

His head drops down to the crook of your neck, grunts and groans spilling out and muffling against your skin. It’d been so long since he’d been with anyone like this; Nicole hadn’t touched him in, fuck, he can’t even remember. But you… You’re here now and you’re so  _ perfect _ .

It should have been you all along.

In the midst of the moans, the sweat-slicked skin, and shaky breaths, the realization hits him with full force. It’s always been you. He never should have broken things off. He never should have explored things with Nicole. It’s only ever you, and it will only ever be you for him.

“I love you,” he admits, the words strangled and cracked as they follow his release.

He lets the words sink down onto you, settling over you while you clench and flutter and grip him tight, milking him for everything he’s worth. The words are ones you’ve longed to hear for so long, the admission causing your vision to blur with a thin shean of tears. “Oh, Charlie.” His lips are planting tender kisses along your collarbone while you speak, taking time to express his love for you in other ways. “I love you too. Have for so long.”

The relief he feels washes over him with such ferocity that it drains him of any remaining energy he’d had left following your romp in the sheets. Easing his hips back, he pulls his softening cock out of you, the two of you sighing at the loss. Charlie drops onto his back beside you, hands reaching to take hold of you, drawing you close until you lie against him, head on his shoulder and hand on his chest.

It isn’t long until the lure of sleep draws the two of you in, pulling you down into a restful slumber.

\-----------------------------------------------------

A knock at the door sounds, rousing Charlie from his dreams. He blinks, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room. His head swivels, eyes glancing to the digital display of the alarm clock. Eleven in the evening.

Another knock can be heard, and opting to answer rather than risk it waking you up, he carefully peels you from him before slipping out of the bed. Bare feet pad to the bathroom so that he can retrieve one of the hotel’s robes. Pulling it on, he ties the sash of it just as he reaches the door as another knock, louder this time, can be heard. Quickly undoing the locks, he pulls the door open to reveal who he believes will be someone from the concierge or perhaps a guest who’s reached the wrong room. Who he finds on the other side, however, is not at all who he expected.

It’s as if ice water has been dumped onto him, the freezing sensation flowing through his veins, tired eyes now wide and awake.

Back in the bed you stir, reaching for the empty spot where he’d just been, the warm spot already cooling. “Charlie,” you call out, seeing the light of the hallway pouring into the other room. “Charlie, who is it?”

But Charlie’s unable to answer. Words fail him in the moment, because standing before him is none other than Nicole.


End file.
